


lead my life astray

by strangetowns



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Historical Inaccuracies (a lot of them probably), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9052366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangetowns/pseuds/strangetowns
Summary: Mr. Zimmermann raises his eyebrows. “Are you implying, then, that I expect too much?”
“Not as such,” Eric replies. “I am simply asking you to keep an open mind.”-A Pride and Prejudice AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rumpelsnorcack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpelsnorcack/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Rumpelsnorcack! I wish I had more time to offer you a bit more than this short thing, but I hope you enjoy this regardless. <3
> 
> So yes, this is an AU that is loosely based on Pride and Prejudice. There are a lot of historical inaccuracies, particularly since I didn't find myself inclined to write a period rom-com in a homophobic, predominantly white setting. If this bothers you, you can think of this less as historical fiction and more of a "computers haven't been invented and everyone dresses and talks fancy" parallel universe.
> 
> Thank you as always to [Lydia](http://boxesfullofthoughts.tumblr.com) for the beta. Title of the fic comes from Tanya Batt's "[Secret Doors and Passageways](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2-U_4x8s5kY)".

“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” Justin proclaims with gravity, “that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be a very, very sad man.”

His serious countenance is somewhat undermined by the background noise of the surrounding ball swallowing his words up until they’re near unintelligible, his wild hand gestures almost knocking into a passerby without him even noticing, and the sight of Adam raising his eyebrows in exaggerated confusion over Justin’s shoulder. Eric decides it would be improper of him to point this out or, worse, laugh.

It is, however, not too improper to push back. “Don’t be rude,” Eric says. He doesn’t have the heart to truly admonish him, as Justin hardly ever means what he says in a mean-spirited way, but he still feels somewhat obligated to defend the weak and lonely. Like himself. “Half of your friends are single men.”

“Exactly!” Justin punctuates the exclamation with a pointed finger in the air. “And this is why, Eric, we must find a good man for you to marry.”

“Or a woman, should your inclinations lean that way,” Adam adds in helpfully from Justin’s other side.

“They most certainly do not,” Eric says, affronted.

“We must!” Justin cuts in. “Do you want to be a very, very sad man? I think not.”

“I am not very, very sad,” Eric protests. “I am, at most, simply sad. This is a gross exaggeration of my character, and I will not stand for it.”

“Eric,” Justin says. “Eric, Eric, Eric. My dearest friend.”

“Excuse me,” Adam says.

Justin pats Adam comfortingly on the arm. “My dearest friend whom I am not married to,” he amends. “You are like a son to us. Like the son we never had. Thus it stands to reason we would want what’s best for you.”

“And what’s best for me is marriage,” Eric says flatly.

“Yes! I’m glad you’re finally catching on.”

Eric supposes, at this point, that he should just give it up as a lost cause. Adam and Justin have been scheming to find him a suitable marriage for almost the entirety of their acquaintance with him, though their increasingly elaborate attempts to do so have yet to bear fruit. And when the perfect model for a happy marriage between two men happens to be right in front of him, it is rather difficult not to want that for himself. Not that he would actually admit that to them. Ever.

“While I do appreciate the gesture, gentlemen,” Eric says, as firmly as he can, “I am content with my current circumstances. I really am. And I certainly would not need your help to find a husband, if I wanted to find one in the first place.”

“Which you do,” Justin insists. “You do want to find one, and you do need our help.”

“Justin,” Adam says, patting him on the arm. “That’s enough.”

Justin turns to face him, dismayed. “But – “

“You know we just want you to be happy,” Adam says to Eric, even as he gives Justin a long, lingering look that results in Justin looking down almost as shyly as if Adam had glanced at him for the first time. The two of them are ridiculous, frankly.

“Very kind of you to say,” Eric says, amused despite himself. “You still have no chance of persuading me to actually dance tonight.”

“Damn,” Justin says mournfully. “I really thought we were getting somewhere, finally.”

Eric leans back in his chair and lets his gaze sweep across the ballroom in front of them. It is, admittedly, a charming scene – columns around the room holding up a vast, domed ceiling, a quartet on the other end of the hall playing a tune that makes his knee bounce up and down, people spinning around each other in a whirl of silk skirts and grace that he finds rather pleasing to the eye. A charming scene he witnesses every week, more or less. God forbid he desire a break from it all every once in a while.

Something gentle taps him on the shoulder. “It appears Mister Oluransi is giving you a rather hard time,” a dry voice behind him says. “Shall I rescue you?”

Eric turns his head, and smiles. “Miss Duan,” he says. “You’ve made it.”

The woman behind him, hair tucked neatly behind her ears and dark skirts swishing gently about her ankles, grimaces. “I almost didn’t,” she confesses as she steps around and takes her seat next to Eric. “You know how these affairs wear me out.”

“But then you decided our company was too good for you to forego?” Justin says hopefully.

“But then I decided _Mister Bittle’s_ company was too good for me to forego,” Miss Duan corrects.

Adam clutches at his chest as if wounded. “I felt that, Miss Duan.”

“And also,” Miss Duan says, and here she lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “because I heard the gentleman who moved to Netherfield two weeks ago is making an appearance today.”

“Oh, really,” Justin says, his air too casual to be anything but suspicious.

“Ah, I heard that too. And he’s bringing his friend,” Adam says, arching an eyebrow. “Word has it they both cut rather charming figures.”

“Oh, _really_.” At this point, the meaningful glances from Justin are much too obvious for Eric to ignore.

Though he does his best anyway. “Well, I don’t see anyone new here,” he says, purposefully turning his head away from his friends as he pretends to scan the crowd. “And what’s the fuss, anyway? They’re just _men_.”

“Men with rather large fortunes,” Adam says thoughtfully. Wonderful, now he’s joined the crusade, too.

“Men who would be perfect for you to marry,” Justin declares with an air of triumph he almost certainly does not deserve.

“They might not even be interested in other men,” Eric says, pointing out the obvious.

“Anyone would be interested in you,” Justin says, reaching out to pat Eric’s hand reassuringly.

“That’s not what I – “

“Oh, would you stop giving Mister Bittle a hard time,” Miss Duan says. “It’s unbecoming of you two. Go on, find some other bachelors to pester.”

Eric half expects the couple to refuse, but Adam just hums thoughtfully. “You know,” he says, “we haven’t yet visited with Christopher tonight, have we…”

Justin gasps. “Perhaps he asked Miss Farmer to dance! We must investigate immediately.” And then, faster than Eric can blink, they’re gone.

Eric blinks anyway. “Thank you, Miss Duan,” he says.

“They really are quite tiresome, aren’t they?” Miss Duan answers, though the smile playing on the corner of her lips suggests she might think otherwise.

“Truly.” Eric sighs. “But they mean well.”

“Perhaps.” Miss Duan glances at Eric. “I know how you feel, regardless. I’d rather rest my feet too, if I can.”

On a whim, Eric looks across the room. At some point when he wasn’t paying attention, two men had materialized on the other end of the hall, and are now deep in conversation with each other. He’s never seen them before, and can only assume they are the newcomers Miss Duan spoke of earlier. Begrudgingly, as he watches them say words to each other he cannot hear, he thinks that Adam might have a point. The shorter of the pair is attractive enough, with his hair tied neatly back and his mustache well-kept, but the taller is appallingly striking in his austerity. Sharp cheekbones, sharper eyes, a plain but well-fitting suit. Severe line of a mouth, simultaneously arresting and intimidating. Eric wonders, briefly, if this is the mouth of a man who rarely smiles, and what it would look like if he did.

The stranger turns his head, then, and his gaze catches on Eric’s. Something like a chill goes over him at the timing, something shivery that tingles in the small of his back. He had not realized eyes could be so blue.

Another second, and Eric remembers himself. He tears his gaze away, and takes a calming breath, and hazards another glance toward the pair of men. The stranger has looked away, too, but now the other has his eyes turned toward Eric’s direction. It takes him a moment to realize who he might actually be staring at.

“Well, I wish you the best of luck with that,” Eric says. “There’s a gentleman there who looks like he might want to change your mind.”

Miss Duan follows Eric’s gaze, and raises an eyebrow minutely. Eric knows her well enough, at this point, to recognize intrigue on her face when he sees it.

“Rather charming, indeed,” Miss Duan murmurs, almost to herself. “Should I let him, do you think?”

“If he has the courage to come speak to you himself, then I daresay it’s worth a chance.”

“It appears we will soon discover whether you are correct,” Miss Duan says.

Eric has just enough time to glance back at the pair before he realizes they’re no longer standing there.

“Don’t tell me they’re coming over here,” Eric says.

“It would seem so, actually,” Miss Duan says. With a flicker of her eyes, she points him to the two men weaving their way through the crowds in their direction.

“Oh, dear,” Eric says.

He hardly has time to prepare himself, however, before the men come to a stop before them. The shorter introduces himself as “Mr. Knight, at your service,” with an exaggeratedly jaunty bow, and his companion as Mr. Zimmermann. Eric can’t decide if he finds it easier or harder to deal with the full force of Mr. Zimmermann’s stare, now that he knows to whom it belongs. Not that it matters, for Mr. Zimmermann hardly spares him a glance throughout the entire round of introductions.

Well, two can play at that game. Eric turns his attention to Mr. Knight and smiles as widely as he can. “I am Mr. Bittle,” he says warmly. “Allow me to introduce my companion and my dearest friend, Miss Duan.”

“A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Bittle, Miss Duan,” Mr. Knight says with a gentle smile. Eric decides he likes him already.

“Likewise,” Miss Duan says, her mouth curving up in answer. “Are you enjoying the night so far, gentlemen?”

“Very much so,” Mr. Knight says, his smile turning into a full-blown grin. “The country has thoroughly charmed me. I’m afraid I’m doomed to never return to the city again.”

“Don’t be so rash in your judgment, Mr. Knight,” Miss Duan says. “The night is still young, after all.”

“Perhaps you might help guide my judgments in such matters, then, since you seem to know them best,” Mr. Knight says gravely.

“Perhaps I might.” To a stranger, Miss Duan might appear almost expressionless, but to Eric, the smile on her face now is the most dazzling he has ever seen.

Well, if Miss Duan has found a way to occupy herself, perhaps Eric should endeavor to do the same. He turns to Mr. Zimmermann and gives him another tentative smile, which is – of course – not returned. Eric would rather just turn on his heel and leave the conversation at this point, but that wouldn’t be polite, and he finds himself loathe to be anything but the most polite he can be. Then again, perhaps he’s being unfair. Perhaps Mr. Zimmermann is shy. Perhaps talking to him might make some iota of a difference.

“Forgive me if I’m too forward, Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric tries, “but are you the gentleman who has taken up residence at Netherfield?”

“That _is_ forward of you,” Mr. Zimmermann says, the first words Eric has heard him speak all night. His voice is a gravelly monotone; Eric can’t imagine experiencing a more appropriate physical representation of the feeling “displeasure”.

Eric purses his lips, but before he can answer, Mr. Knight holds up a placating hand. “That would be me, actually,” he says. “It’s a lovely estate, and I’m hoping to be able to make it truly mine soon.”

“That would be wonderful.” Eric beams. “I only speak for myself, of course, but I think it would be delightful to see you round these parts more often.”

“Now who is being too rash in their judgments?” Mr. Zimmermann says, raising a single eyebrow. He is so exact in his movements, so careful. It would almost be admirable, if it wasn’t so condescending.

Eric smiles at him pleasantly. “I would rather think the best of people than the worst of them,” he says. “If that makes me careless, I’m glad for it.”

There is no answer to that, merely a downward glance and, if Eric’s eyes do not deceive him, a slight flushing of the cheeks. He tries not to feel too pleased with himself. That would be exceedingly impolite.

Mr. Knight, on his part, laughs boisterously. “An admirable philosophy, Mr. Bittle,” he says. “Tell me – if I am to think the best of Miss Duan, where shall I start?”

“Perhaps that is a question you should be directing toward me, Mr. Knight,” Miss Duan says, twinkle in her eyes belying the seriousness of her tone.

Mr. Knight glances toward her, startled, then visibly relaxes. “Well, then, Miss Duan,” he says. “What do you say?”

“I say,” Miss Duan says, mouth curving upward ever so slightly, “that if you were to ask me to dance, you very well might find the answer to your question.”

Mr. Knight stares at her in unashamed awe, and she, of course, meets his gaze steadily. It certainly took them long enough, Eric thinks.

“That is, of course, a strict maybe,” she adds. Her smile grows a fraction.

The comment seems to pull Mr. Knight out of his stupor. He inclines his head and says, very seriously, “Miss Duan, would you like to dance with me?”

“It would be my pleasure,” she answers, and steps forward to take his hand. “Shall I meet with you later, Mr. Bittle?”

“Oh, go on, then, don’t let me keep you,” Eric says, trying very hard to conceal his own grin and possibly failing. ‘Rest my feet’, indeed. “I’m sure Mr. Zimmermann will keep me company well enough.” He can feel the other man’s eyes on him, and determinedly ignores them.

“Zimmermann, do me a favor and don’t scare off Mr. Bittle in my absence,” Mr. Knight calls over his shoulder as they depart. “I’d very much like to keep him around.”

Mr. Knight and Miss Duan’s departure does indeed mean that Eric is now obliged to stay in Mr. Zimmermann’s presence. As off-putting as his unsmiling countenance might be, Eric can’t imagine this to be the worst thing he’s ever had to do. Mr. Zimmermann has a long way to go if he really wants to scare off Eric Bittle.

“How do you like the country, Mr. Zimmermann?” Eric asks with a polite smile. Politeness is, after all, very important. “Do you find it to your tastes? I, for one, am enamored with it. Taking a brisk walk in the early morning or the late night? I can’t imagine a better way to clear your head.”

“My head is clear enough,” Mr. Zimmermann answers. Eric has to marvel at how a voice that carries almost no inflections can manage to sound so disapproving. “There’s not much to do around here, is there, if the most worthy activity you can think to do is to take a walk?”

Well. He’ll give this man one thing – he’s certainly very good at being blunt.

Eric isn’t, really, but he was never very good at being intimidated, either.

“It would depend on your perspective, I think,” he says. “Someone who goes to the country thinking he knows everything about it will inevitably tire of it. But someone who goes to the country with few expectations – well, there’s plenty of room to surprise a person like that, isn’t there?”

Mr. Zimmermann raises his eyebrows. “Are you implying, then, that I expect too much?”

“Not as such,” Eric replies. “I am simply asking you to keep an open mind.”

He half-expects Mr. Zimmermann to answer with a cold retort, but for the second time that night, the other man seems to have been rendered speechless. He does not look away, this time, just stares at Eric with those sharp blue eyes. To be fair, in this moment Eric can’t think of anything to say either.

A motion from somewhere behind Mr. Zimmermann catches Eric’s eye. He glances over and sees, with some relief, that Justin and Adam are currently attempting to wave him over.

“I should take my leave, now,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound too grateful. “It seems that there are others who wish to visit with me. But I rather enjoyed making your acquaintance, Mr. Zimmermann.”

They are words of courtesy, of course, and Eric doesn’t exactly expect a brilliant response to them, or even anything more than a monosyllable of acknowledgement. But he doesn’t expect what actually happens, either –

Mr. Zimmermann’s eyes widening, just a fraction, before sweeping down to the floor –

His voice, quiet, as he says, “And I you, Mr. Bittle” –

And the quickness of his retreat, as bewildering as it is sudden.

Eric frowns to himself. He has little time to process any of this, though, as Adam and Justin’s motions are becoming all the more frantic. He makes his way to them through the crowds to join them. As it turns out, though, staying with Mr. Zimmermann might have turned out to be the less painful conversation, incredible as the thought might sound.

“Eric, you _talked_ to the man, are you going to dance with him, too?” Justin asks eagerly.

“Eric, I have never seen you smile so much in one conversation,” Adam says with a wide grin.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, calm down,” Eric says exasperatedly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I smile all the time. Meanwhile, _Mr. Zimmermann_ didn’t even smile once. I’m fairly certain he dislikes smiling, actually. ‘It contorts the face’, he must think.”

“Eric knows his name!” Justin exclaims. “This is a momentous occasion!”

“Gentlemen, at this point, I don’t know if I really want to,” Eric says.

The statement is enough to give Adam and Justin at least some pause. They share a sidelong glance, one of those looks that only they could understand. “Did it go badly?” Adam asks.

Eric groans and hides his face with his hands. “Oh, it went terribly. I don’t know what I did, but I feel that he must hate me, the way he behaved. I think he just goes into introductions knowing he’ll hate a person before they even get the chance to tell him their name.”

“That does sound terrible,” Adam says soothingly.

“If it weren’t for the fact that he’s currently looking at you as if he longs to ask for your hand in marriage,” Justin interjects. “Or, at least, for a dance.”

Eric stares at them. “What on Earth are you on about?”

“Look there,” Justin says, pointing. Surely enough, Mr. Zimmermann stands on the fringes of the room, and his gaze is turned toward Eric.

Eric would not describe the look as one of longing. It’s more of a glare, really, of bitterness, or disapproval. Not that he can assess it for very long, as it is diverted almost as soon as Eric catches glimpse of it.

“He will be asking you for a dance before the night is done,” Justin says, “I’m sure of it.”

“I am not,” Eric says.

“Well, that’s all right,” Justin says. “I can be sure enough for the both of us.”

Eric frowns at him, but before he can think of an answer to that, he spots Miss Duan making her way toward them. “Back so soon?” he asks her, genuinely surprised. “How was it?”

“It was only a dance,” Miss Duan answers. Still, he does not miss the way she repeatedly glances over his shoulder across the room.

“I think Mr. Knight would be keen on dancing with you for the rest of the evening, if you allowed it,” Eric says.

“What is this about a Mr. Knight?” Adam cuts in.

“Yes, who is this Mr. Knight and has he been dancing with you?” Justin says, hardly bothering to conceal his delight.

“Now look what you’ve done, Mr. Bittle,” Miss Duan says. “You have given too much away.”

“And yet,” Eric says, “you still have not said how the dance was.”

“Oh, it was all right,” Miss Duan says.

“You’re blushing,” Justin says, in awe. “I’m sure I’ve never seen you blush before.”

Miss Duan’s cheeks darken. “I most certainly am _not_.”

“Right, okay,” Justin says. “You’re definitely not blushing, just as the sky definitely isn’t blue, and I definitely am not married to my best friend.”

Miss Duan sniffs. “Oh, fine. It was a very lovely dance. Perhaps I _will_ dance with him again, if he asks.” She glances over her shoulder once more. “But only because he is marginally more interesting than the majority of the men here. Granted, that’s not a high standard to meet.”

“An excellent point,” Eric says. “He’s also some degrees more affable than certain others I might name.”

Miss Duan glances at Eric curiously. “Really? I would think you’d say certain others have their own charm. You did seem to get along all right with… certain others.”

“Oh, not you, too,” Eric says, feeling somewhat betrayed. “I was merely being polite.”

“Perhaps you should give him another chance,” Adam suggests. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

Eric hazards yet another glance in Mr. Zimmermann’s direction. They don’t meet eyes, this time.

Perhaps it wouldn’t. And perhaps Eric has given him all the chances he deserves.

“Well, that depends on him,” Eric says. “I told him to be more open-minded. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who could so easily do that, but what do I know? I just met the man.”

“Then perhaps,” Adam says, “you should take your own advice.”

Eric hesitates, at that. It’s not a point he can refute very easily.

And anyway, can he really say Mr. Zimmermann is the worst man he’s ever met? He is harsh, and cold, and probably thinks himself superior to everyone in the room, but he is honest. If nothing else, that must be afforded some respect.

“Well,” he says, “ _if_ he chooses to talk to me again, or even ask to dance, I might consider it. _Might_.”

“How generous of you,” Miss Duan says dryly.

Still, when Mr. Knight approaches them again later that night for a second dance, he comes alone. Eric tries to convince himself that the prickling in his gut is the feeling of satisfaction rather than disappointment. Were he to admit to disappointment, however, he wouldn’t even be able to say over what.

**Author's Note:**

> I do have plans that may or may not expand this fic further. However, it will remain a one shot until further notice, as I don't know when I'll have the time to actually put these plans into motion. I hope that's all right for now.


End file.
